


There Won't Be A Second Time

by ThereWillBeCubes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drabble, Other, mild violence, part of an au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 21:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7731031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereWillBeCubes/pseuds/ThereWillBeCubes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just a small drabble from a high school au, essentially polydins in their final year. plus possessive/yandere Shiro because anyone familiar with my fics knows I can't get enough of that. </p>
<p>first posted at yanderayy.tumblr.com</p>
    </blockquote>





	There Won't Be A Second Time

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small drabble from a high school au, essentially polydins in their final year. plus possessive/yandere Shiro because anyone familiar with my fics knows I can't get enough of that. 
> 
> first posted at yanderayy.tumblr.com

-

“There, that’s his bike.”

Shiro follows Keith’s pointed finger, landing on a pair of lanky boys, lazily circling the bike racks across the road. The shops are already closed, dark in the windows, and the streetlights are only just starting to flicker into life. His eyes follow a glowing tip of a cigarette in one of their mouths.

“Let’s go,” Shiro says, and Keith follows his lead as they cross the deserted carpark towards the pair.

It doesn’t go unnoticed, the two slowing and watching them approach. The cigarette is ground out on the handlebars of the stolen bike, and Shiro’s eyes narrow a fraction.

“What the fuck do you want?” he asks, blowing acrid smoke in their direction.

Shiro doesn’t reply until he’s nearly within arms reach; lucky for him, the other boy is posturing, sneering, and doesn’t back off.

“That bike doesn’t belong to you.”

A brief glimmer of surprise lights in the young man’s face, before his sneer returns with full force. He stands on the pedals, squeaking the wheel as he inches closer to Shiro.

“Doesn’t it? Hey, Jace, this is my bike, right?”

“Yeah,” the other one sniggered, “it’s always been yours.”

“See?” the teen sneers, “so fuck off.”

It’s easy enough, his face so close, that Shiro only has to swing once to send him sprawling onto the cement, knuckles stinging from the force of his punch. He struggles to move, tangled in the bike and yelling for help.

“What the fuck!” his friend cries, trying to pedal backwards. He falls onto the bike rack, flailing, and Keith hauls him by the jacket and throws him bodily towards the road. The guy at his feet spits at the cement, kicking out ineffectually.

“Fuck! It’s mine, dickhead!”

“Is that right?” Shiro asks, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him up, ignoring his sputtering and protests as he drags him into the alleyway, watching Keith easily kicking his friend’s ass.

“JACE- FUCK! HELP! HELP ME!”

“Shut up, will you?”

“Fuck you-!”

There’s a muted squeaking of wheels as Keith comes over to them, looking no worse for wear.

“Your friend’s gone,” Keith says, leaning the bike against the brick wall, “save your breath.”

Shiro reaches into his jacket pocket, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Keith’s eyebrows shoot up at the sight.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he commented, sounding just a tiny bit discomfited, watching Shiro light one up.

“I don’t,” Shiro replies, looking at the glowing ring of heat, smoke trailing into the night air.

He presses it into the teen’s arm. They yelp with pain and shock, spitting out expletives, and Shiro clamps a hand over their mouth.

“All I want to hear from you are answers,” he says calmly, waving the cigarette and watching with satisfaction as those eyes track it fearfully.

“What’s your name?”

“X-Xavier.”

“So tell me, Xavier, where’d you get that bike?”

“I found it-! AR-!”

It smells a little, not just of the awful smoke, but cooking flesh and the sting of burned hair. It’s extremely unpleasant.

“Was I ambiguous? I meant correct answers. The truth. Where did you get it?”

“We took it off some guy!”

Shiro idly taps off the ash onto Xavier’s trousers.

“Some guy? Who?”

“I don’t know-! I seen him at school- I don’t know who he is- I SWEAR-!”

He writhes as Shiro presses harder to get the last of the heat into his skin.

“Alright then. Did you take anything else?”

Tears are streaming down Xavier’s face, but incredibly, he shakes his head. He was just handing over reasons to be burned.

Shiro clicks the lighter, keeping a firm hand on Xavier’s neck as he puts it to the cigarette, the flame licking lightly at his chin.

“I have a whole pack here.”

“A phone…” Xavier choked out, wheezing, “we took his phone…”

“Where is it?”

“I- I don’t know- fuck-!”

Keith glances around, checking to make sure there’s no one else near them. Shiro’s hand cuts off the worst of the noise, but it’s still loud enough to be heard from the street.

“We… sold it… please… that’s the truth…”

Shiro frowns. He’d hoping they’d still have it.

“Well, I need something to take back. Where’s your phone?”

“… in, in my pocket…”

It’s a bit newer than Lance’s, a more recent model. Shiro turns it on, and it doesn’t even have a passcode. Easy.

“It’ll have to do,” Keith says, shrugging, “it works out.”

Shiro slips it into his pocket, before grounding out his cigarette. He can keenly remember Lance’s bruises, his split lip and knuckles.

“Not quite,” he replies quietly, wiping the look of relief off Xavier’s face, “take the bike to the car, I’ll be a minute.”

It’s satisfying, god, so satisfying, to let out his anger, punish this person that hurt his family.

“If you ever- go near Lance- again- I’ll break- your- fucking- legs-!”

Shiro lets out a long, deep-seated breath, “understood?”

Xavier wheezes out a tiny little “yes.”

“Good.”

Keith is waiting by the car, staring up at the darkening sky pensively.

“Done already?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“That was quicker than I expected,” he says, tilting his head, eyes trying to get a read on him. A little concerned, and still smouldering from anger. Shiro wonders if he wanted to do it.

“They’d be waiting for us, Keith.”

Keith’s face softens, and he leans up, pressing a short, warm kiss to his lips.

“Always alert,” he says quietly, trailing the scar on his cheek with his fingertips, before they drop and curl into his shirt, “you’re not alone in this.”

As if on queue, Shiro’s phone begins to buzz from his pocket.

“Hey, Pidge.”

“Did you find them? I was trying to track Lance’s phone but it’s nowhere around where he said they might be, and Lance is getting really agitated and-”

“We found them, and they sold it-”

“Those dickheads-! Wait, so you-?”

“Yeah, we got his bike back,” Shiro explains, eyeing it lying over his backseat. Good thing it could fold down.

“Great!” Pidge says, “but they sold his phone?”

“Don’t worry, I got a replacement. We’re just going to have to get a new SIM card or something.”

“Oh, okay, good. So… we’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah, we’re coming home now.”

Keith is flicking through an album on the phone while waiting, frowning a little.

“They said they go to our school,” he says, showing Shiro a photo taken in the cafeteria, “they’ll recognise us.”

Shiro touches his knuckles, feeling the sting of the splits in his skin, blood singing.

“I hope so.”

-

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading yo


End file.
